


don't lose your head

by Anonymous



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25404295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Rhian won. He bested them all and locked Tedros and Agatha away and made Sophie his princess. End of story.But Sophie has one last trick up her sleeve. And maybe, just maybe, she can save all of Camelot with it.
Relationships: Rhian/Sophie (The School for Good and Evil)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	don't lose your head

**Author's Note:**

> All characters presented are over the age of 18.

Sophie slumps back into her seat, arms crossed, glaring in the direction of her prince, her knight in shining armor, her soon-to-be-husband.

As a child, she would occasionally entertain a personal fantasy that one day she would ride in a carriage with a beautiful boy en route to their wedding. She supposes she should’ve thought that scenario out more thoroughly.

Rhian took over Camelot a year ago today. A year ago today, he proposed to Sophie, was knighted by Tedros, and betrayed them all in the span of maybe twenty minutes. It was heart-wrenching and angst-ridden. It was the best-turned-worst day of her life. 

Not a day goes by that she doesn’t regret it. She regrets saying  _ yes  _ to a boy she barely knew, hates herself for not seeing past his pitiful charade. He was the Snake and he always has been; if she weren’t so blinded by her own desperation, she would’ve seen it sooner.

Sophie’s a different person now. Hardened by the consequences of her salient decisions made in the heat of the moment and the passion of an entirely fake romance. 

Sure, she’s considered  _ it _ numerous times in the past year; does Rhian really love her? When he kisses her between meals and chores and away from civilian eyes, away from the need for good publicity, does it mean something more?

But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because Sophie will  _ never  _ love a monster like him.

Whether he’s aware of that remains to be seen.

Sophie did one good thing as Rhian’s princess. It couldn’t possibly make up for the mistakes she made, but it certainly didn’t hurt anyone except for the object of her loathing. She got Rhian to push their wedding back until they were both well past the age of eighteen, thereby extending Tedros and Agatha’s sentence to die. They were meant to be beheaded in front of the Camelot people after the ceremony, and since that ceremony has yet to happen, their heads remain firmly planted on their shoulders.

She’s only seen them once since Rhian took Camelot. Within the first week of being his princess, when she was filled with unchecked spite and resentment, she broke into the dungeons and killed a knight in the process. She only got a glimpse, but it was enough. They were alive. They were being fed and washed, however little or far in between. It gave her hope. And she can only pray it did the same for them.

These are the only times she’s acted out against Rhian. Her intention was that, slowly but surely, he’d come to believe that was infatuated with him, rendering it safe to let his guard down.

She only has one last card to deal, but she’s pretty damn confident in it. And if it doesn’t work… well, then they’re all doomed. 

Tedros and Agatha’s heads on a chopping block. Sophie eternally binded to the most villainous man the Woods have ever seen. That is what lies in store for them if her plan doesn’t bear fruit.

This carriage reeps of opulence, of wealth and promise. Truly befitting of a princess in white and and a prince in his kingly robes. The windows on either side are shut, but she can hear the roaring of Camelot’s people outside their doors. They love them. They love  _ her _ . They can’t wait to see them married and in love.

It’s the story she’s always wanted. Nice try, Storian; she thinks she can do you one better, though.

She turns her head toward Rhian in one smooth gesture. His eyes flicker up to meet her gaze. He’s always watching her obsessively, beyond what could be shrugged off as protectiveness or pure admiration. But the way he’s looking at her right now almost  _ seems _ affectionate; his features are soft, light, caring. His guard is down. He’s not afraid of her. If anything, he’s in love with her.

His mistake.

She sits up straighter and smooths down her dress. It’s his mother’s, that pesky little thing. It styled itself into a horrid conservative gown this morning. She wishes the neckline weren’t so high and the skirt so low; she’s about to become queen, not grandma of the king.

Rhian’s eyes follow her hands as they dance across the skirts of her dress. He’s entranced; she can see it in his eyes. When his eyes lock with hers, he smiles. Comforting, reassuring. Like he wants her to smile back. Like he isn’t a lying, abusive, manipulative  _ snake. _

Instead of smiling, she says, “Darling, I want a change of dress.”

His eyebrows furrow and his smile drops and just like that he’s back to the cold exterior she’s been met with since the day he proposed.

“We’ve been over this, Sophie—”

“Oh, don’t  _ Sophie _ me. Yes, I’m well aware of your, quite frankly, strange addiction to dolling me up in your mother’s clothes, but it’s gotten old. This isn’t a dress to get married in. This isn’t the sort of dress that makes a queen. I just can’t stand it.”

“My mother was a queen of her own; you should feel honored to wear her gown.”

_ The only thing Evelyn Sader was queen of was her idealistic fantasy bullshit,  _ Sophie seethes to herself. At one point, Sophie was just like Evelyn, caught up in her own unrealistic daydreams. But Sophie was able to outgrow herself; she left her childish fantasies with her past self where they belong. That’s the difference between Evelyn and Sophie; Sophie’s not  _ innocent. _

“As my future husband, you should learn to take a thing or two of advice from me,” Sophie snaps. “A king is nothing if he can’t take orders from his queen.”

Rhian grits his teeth. “The dress stays. That is final.” But then he softens, eyes flitting away as though he’s suddenly ashamed of something. “But I suppose you’re right. What’s a ruler who can’t take criticism?”

Sophie huffs. “It’s not criticism. It’s valuing my opinions and treating me as your equal. You should know all about this sort of thing considering your dedication to dear deceased Mummy Sader.”

Rhian flinches but doesn’t back down. He leans forward on his knees instead. It’s a challenge; he’s beckoning her to come nearer.

“What can I do for you, my princess?”

The insult doesn’t escape her. He’s still treating her like his lesser; the princess to his king. But she isn’t afraid. She leans forward enough so that their noses almost touch and watches with sick amusement as his eyes flicker between her eyes and her lips. 

His coppery, close-trimmed hair suddenly looks perfect. His face is too clean. He needs to be dirty upped. He needs to be  _ ruined. _

Her mouth slowly stretches into a grin. She flashes her gleaming, pearly-white teeth, her metaphorical fangs, and runs her tongue over them for him to see.

“Get on your knees,” she whispers.

And he hears her. And he understands. His jaw clenches and unclenches. His fingers flex against his thigh. But his eyes, his luminescent sky-blue eyes—they’re  _ shining,  _ absolutely fucking ethereal. 

It was never about getting her into another dress. It was about getting her  _ out  _ of this one. 

He slowly lowers himself down and she leans back. Once he’s situated, he gracefully raises his hands up, placing each on one of her knees. She’s got layers of skirts separating his skin from hers, but it still sends a chill of excitement through her.

_ Remember what this is for. Don’t lose your head. _

“Go on,” she says hoarsely. “Make me your queen, Rhian Pendragon.”

She hates herself for saying it. Tedros is the sole son of Arthur and he always will be, that much she’s sure of. But it’s exactly what she  _ needs  _ to say; his pupils dilate and his lips part. He’s in. He’s hers. 

She’s got him right where she wants him.

He moves his hands from her knees and lifts the hem of her skirt. He hesitates for just a second. It’s all she can do not to grab him by the hair and push him forward.

She doesn’t make a move to help him, and she can see him mentally realizing that this is the point of no return. There won’t be any going back once he pulls up her dress.

And so he does it quickly. He bunches her dress at her knees to keep it from falling back down. The sudden exposure knocks the wind out of her, but she grabs her skirts and pulls them up and repeats her mantra:  _ Don’t lose your head, don’t lose your head, don’t lose your head.  _

The only thing she’s wearing underneath is a pair of knickers. She never bothers with anything more; it weighs her down. Her legs are bare and welcoming, and now that his hands are free he can caress her skin. They linger on the insides of her thighs; neither Sophie nor Rhian have ever felt anything like this. She wishes this weren’t happening with someone she hates so much, but then again, maybe there’s no harm in taking some pleasure from this.

Something like a moan escapes her lips before she can stop it. She’s far too invested, but it seems to be the extra shove he needs. He reaches her knickers and sticks his fingers in the waistband. And he pulls.

It’s a tantalizingly slow process. She’s far too erect, mentally speaking, although her crotch is wet as well. He takes care pulling her undergarments down her legs and over her heels, which he also ends up unstrapping gently, like she’s a reverse Cinderella. 

It actually annoys her how long he spends looking at it when he gazes back up. Sure, this is both their first times, but this could hardly be considered sensual on her part.

She threads her hand through his hair. Not hard enough to hurt. Just gives him a little nudge. 

And finally,  _ finally, _ he leans in.

She sits back and braces herself. She has no idea what to expect, in all honesty. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe—

He tongue graces her, licking one direct stripe across her folds. The sensation is like nothing she’s ever felt. Her hips buckle and she gasps. It’s so good. That one little gesture— _ it’s so good. _

She needs more.

“Do it again,” she spits.

He presses his whole mouth to her spot, lips puckered against it like he’s kissing her clit. She arches her back as he eats her out, hands coming up to grip her thighs.

“ _ Please, _ ” she gasps. This is heavenly. This is completely unfathomable. God, she would’ve done this sooner if only she’d known—

He’s good with his mouth. His tongue swirls around her bud, and she lets out more than just a moan. But he cleans her up nicely. His tongue covers every inch of her.

She squeezes her knees together reflexively, trapping his head between her thighs. She’s not thinking straight. She’s losing her head. But she needs— she needs  _ him, _ she needs this—

In the end, she comes easy and fast. The orgasm shoots through her and blurs her mind. She leaves her body for a second; she isn’t in control of her actions.

When she snaps out of it, although still dizzy and light-headed, she finds him looking up at her. Part of his face is covered by her skirts, but he’s watching her curiously. Waiting for her to finish. Asking if it’s okay for him to continue. 

_ That affection of his will be his downfall. _

She grins. She can’t help it. Her eyes are hooded and she feels tired, but she leans down and grabs him by the chin and kisses him regardless. They’ve never kissed like this before—so honest and passionate.

_ He. is. in. love. with. you. _

When she pulls back, her hand is caught in his hair. She gives him a look like he’s a pet and she’s a proud master;  _ you did great today, your tricks were better than ever. _

Her voice is low when she says, “Keep going.”

She puts her legs on his shoulders and leans back. He traces her folds with his middle finger before gently pushing them open and she shivers. Carefully, he places a finger inside of her.

It’s not the first time she’s had something in there, but her own finger’s never felt this damn good. She slams her head against the backrest and she says, “Another—put another in.”

He does as he’s told. Her walls clench around his fingers and she buckles her hips again. She needs this to never stop. She needs him to keep going.

_ Don’t lose your head _ —

Oh, to hell with that. Who says she can’t have some fun while she’s saving all of the Endless Woods?

She spreads her legs as wide as she can manage and his fingers dig into her skin.  _ That’s it.  _ That’s the kind of pleasure she needs. 

She thinks she’s close again. She tells him to insert another finger and he does and when she peaks

when she peaks

when she peaks it’s

pure

pure 

pure—

_ bliss. _

(He may be Evil, but he feels so damn good.)

The carriage stops.

She almost doesn’t realize, except for the way Rhian hastily pulls away from her. She snaps back to life, snatching up her underwear and fighting to get her heels on. She’s not totally satisfied, but she came twice the amount of times he did, so that should count for something. 

She sits back up just as the door of the carriage is flung open. It’s Kei who stands there, waiting for them to descend. He’s always been far too comfortable around Rhian—they grew up together, Sophie knows, but she still can’t stand the sight of him. His eyes flicker between Rhian and Sophie and for a second she’s afraid that he knows—

But then he steps back, leaving room for them to exit. She can hear the people calling their name. She can see a glimpse of the front steps of the church. 

She’s about to get married.

She glances at Rhian. His hair’s a mess, but not beyond the point of no return. It’s honestly a flattering look on him. His clothes are ruffled. His cheeks are flushed and his lips look freshly kissed, but his eyes—oh, his eyes are  _ glowing. _

He blinks at the open door, then sits up straight when he realizes where they are and what’s about to happen. He turns back to her and extends an arm.

“Shall we go, my queen? The church awaits.”

He’s smiling. He’s holding nothing back. He’s so vulnerable and she can see every inch of him. 

She grins an Evil grin, a witch’s smirk. Without breaking eye contact or taking his hand, she ducks out of the carriage and into the world.

The people love her. They scream. They cheer from the sidelines. She eats it up and lets it fuel her.

When she turns around, Rhian is just stepping out of the carriage. She grabs his hand and pulls her into a premature kiss, emitting gasps and hollers and hoots from the crowd.

He melts into her. He’s so far gone.

He’ll do whatever he asks of her after she’s crowned queen. And her first order of business?

_ Release my friends from the dungeon.  _


End file.
